Hellraiser: Beyond
by guitarjg
Summary: The cenobites are disappearing. David seeks to put together the pieces of his past and uncover the secrets of the puzzle box. Pinhead pulls the strings and sends David on a terrifying journey to fullfill a mysterious purpose.
1. Chapter 1

Hellraiser

Beyond

The puzzle box sat on the edge of the night table. I sat on the edge of my bed in a cold sweat wondering what would be worse; solving it or not even trying. All these horrible waves of cold swept over my body. My breathing was short and arrhythmic. Flashes of horrible images scour my mind, images of the past, or future, I can't remember anymore. Maybe the images were only my mind playing tricks on me to pick up the box or not to. I see the blood of those fallen before (or after) me and I wonder if it was their own greed and desire that led to their end, or if it really was the inevitable outcome of solving the box. I can't be certain.

I _can_ be certain. I snap out of my mind and reach for it, reach for the answers, reach for my fate, reach for her. As she intrudes my thoughts my hand stops and a sense of warmth swells from my chest. All of this, all this pain, passion, agony, pleasure… obsession, is because of her. I wonder for a moment how things would have turned out had I never met her. How I might have continued on the normal path of things, finished school, gotten some dead end job, got married, had kids, been depressed and miserable just like everyone else. But I met her and it changed everything.

I was a psychology major at Rutgers University in East Brunswick, NJ; I was in my senior year with one semester left until I finished my undergrad degree. Financial aid was bullshit and student loans were going to put me in the poor house before I could declare bankruptcy so I got a job at the campus café. On no particularly odd Thursday, she walked in. I didn't notice anything until she stepped up to my register and her aroma continued into me after she had stopped walking. Calvin Klein's Love Scent. I'll never forget that smell, like roses riding on warm columns of purple air in a spring breeze. She was tall with dark brown eyes and dark brown hair, thick pouting lip atop soft cream skin. If she had a flaw it may have taken years to find one on that perfect face. I'm not sure how long I was staring before she snapped me out of my stupor.

"Hey!" she said, waving her hand in front of my face. That perfume! "You awake?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, sorry. What's up?" Bumbling idiot!

"I'll have a small skim latte, and do you have cinnamon?"

I motioned to the fixing bar, "Yeah, the black bottle. It's labeled." She thanked me and there were a few more moments where I just stared into her eyes and marveled over her perfect face. This time I broke out of the daze on my own and began to make her drink. I had never put as much care into making a drink as I did with this one. I let the milk steam to the perfect temperature. I poured the coffee to the exact right amount for the milk that would be added. It was as if I was hypnotized and all I could think of was making her happy by preparing the latte as best I could.

When the beverage was completed I turned back around to the register, put the latte on the counter, but when I looked up she wasn't there. I leaned forward a bit and looked around the café to see if maybe she'd found a place to sit or if she was at the bar, but she wasn't. Maybe she went to the bathroom, I thought. So I waited, staring at the latte. I couldn't help but think that I should maybe start to make a new one, as the half life on the perfection of _this _one was fading fast. I started to worry that she had left so I began the process of making another latte to help pass the time. When I had finished the second one and gotten back to the register, she still wasn't there.

I stared down at the counter and let my eyes blur from deep thought. Had I said something wrong? Did I give her a look that scared her or something? And then something caught my attention. In my peripheral vision I noticed something cubic in the tip container. I reached in and pulled out the box. It was odd. I had never seen anything like it before. It was about three inches cubed and fairly heavy for something of its size. Strangely stylistic markings, almost Chinese, were all around it. It was a black lacquered puzzle box. I twisted and turned it in my hand. I noticed a small circular plate on one side, the only noticeable difference from the other five sides. I rubbed my thumb on the plate and began to slowly caress it back and forth, back and forth, back and…

"Hey! Buddy! How bout that coffee!?" a man shouted angrily at me. Coming to, I noticed there were now four people on line and they all looked impatient and angry. I must have been examining the cube for longer than I thought. I stuck it in the front pocket of my apron and finished out my shift. I didn't see her again that day. I'm not sure if I ever saw her at all.

Back to the world around me now, the feelings of cold begin to creep back into my body. Droplets of sweat beading off my forehead fall to my knees. I use my t-shirt to wipe my face and look at the cube on the night stand again. The time for thinking is over. I've made my decision. I made the decision in the café when I first saw her face. I reach out and take the cube. I caress it, feeling its familiar grooves. My thumb finds the plate and begins to rub clockwise. It moves. I move. The box opens; I pull one piece up, rotate it and press it back down into a new position. Flashes of blood on the wall invade my vision so quickly, so fast, and then there is only darkness.

I awake suddenly, on my stomach in a pool of sweat. I'm still wearing the same boxers and t-shirt. I'm on a cold hard floor. After a few minutes I manage to stand up. After rubbing my eyes I look around. I'm in a dark room with one window. The sun is shining brightly though cutting into a heavy amount of dust in the air. I see a rusty door on the opposite side of the window. The air is damp and musty. I can hear water dripping from somewhere within the walls. My bear feet are cold and wet. My skin is frigid but my inside burning. I'll never get used to how it feels no matter how many times it happens. Is it teleportation or time travel, or neither? When I use the cube, or the box, or whatever it is, it takes me someplace else.

Cautiously, I make my way to the window. On my tip toes I can just barely get my eyes to see over the window sill. Too bright, my eyes need time to adjust. I squint until I can just make out an empty parking lot with some trees beyond that. No signs or landmarks to help me at all. Lowering myself, I turn toward the door. I place my palms on the door and lean my ear close. I hear more water dripping but nothing else. I try the knob. Locked. Why are these doors always fucking locked? Regret seeps into my thoughts. Regret for using the box again. Regret for thinking I'll ever find more answers than questions. Regret for loving her. Regret for knowing they'll soon be here.

I start walking, searching each crevice of the room for something; a key, a crack, anything. The walls were slimy with mildew, almost greasy. Panic begins to take over me as I scrape and kick randomly at the walls. How long have I been here? Am I really here? And when I turn back to the center of the room He's standing there. Those cold black eyes stare inquisitively at me, into me, through me, beyond me. He cracks his dry white lips into a grin. The light from the window glints off every single one of the countless pins protruding from his head. Pinhead I call him.

His voice is deep and preternatural, "You opened the box. I came."

I'm taken back by this. He said, "I came". The many times I have encountered this being before there are many. I counted six at the most. And then without realizing it, there were fewer each time. This time he was alone. Fear belittled by curiosity I ask, "Where are the others?"

He is silent for a few moments, maybe pondering an explanation. "They have moved beyond experience."

"I don't understand." I said.

"You need not, understand, but you need continue your search." He motions his hand toward the door and it opens. I look toward the door and then back at his expressionless stare.

"Where am I? What am I supposed to do here? You have to help me this time; I can't keep my thoughts straight." I plead with him.

"Time is not constant and location is perceived. You are slipping David. You are slipping through the cracks. There will soon be no time and you will not be here anymore. And I will have moved beyond. Remember what she said." Two hooks shoot out of his chest and tear through my shirt, through my flesh and pull me down to the ground hard. My head hits the ground hard. Darkness consumes me once again.

I think I'm dreaming. Still in the same room, I move to the open door and step through. I look left and right only to see darkness. _Take the left tunnel, _her voice echoes in my mind. I start walking left. The minutes pass as I plunge deeper into the pitch black hallway. Am I making any progress? It's not important. She told me to go left and my love for her overpowers any reason. I must have been walking for over an hour when the tamber of my footsteps grows slightly deeper. The air isn't so cold anymore and the floor is softer on my bear feet. I reach out to feel the walls. The hallway is narrower here but the walls are dry and warm. There's a light up a head now! I sprint toward it despite my aching muscles.

The hallway ends and opens to the outside world. It is a beautifully warm, spring day. I am standing on soft grass, a gentle breeze soothes my face. There is a line of trees a few yards away. Behind me stands an old brick building with no sign of the hallway from which I came. Blissful from the warmth of the sun I don't question why things have changed, only that I am no longer cold and in the dark. I hear various birds singing and warbling carefree on the air. I move toward the trees.

At first, the going is easy. I'm walking briskly in the woods along paths worn by other travelers. I have to step over a few branches here and there and move a few hanging vines out of the way, but it's a pleasurable experience. After a few miles the path becomes less worn and visibility decreases. The woods, no, the forest is much thicker. The wind begins to increase and the air is cooling down. I must have been walking for a good while because the sky, what little I can see through the canopy, is beginning to twilight into a haunting dark scarlet. Am I going deeper in or am I almost out? Would it be quicker to press on or turn back? _You need not understand, but you need continue your search, _His words, her voice.

The twilight fades to night quickly and the path is no more. I fight the forest for space as I struggle for each step forward. The warm air fades quicker than the light and I am once again cold and in the dark. I listen for her voice, but she says nothing. The shadows begin to take shapes and paranoia overrides logic. Am I being followed? Is _He_ here? Am I alone?

I fight through a few more branches and come to a cobblestone path between a thick line of trees on either side. My feet are pleased to find sure ground. I stagger down the path, exhausted, for about ten minutes when I notice a shadow twenty feet in front of me. The shadow is shaped like a man, or a tree, pointing to the right. "It's a tree." I say aloud. But I am not so sure. I begin walking slowly, cautiously, toward the shadow. The closer I get the more it takes the shape of a man, no, a creature. About ten feet away my heart begins to pound hard. I can now make out a head with a beak and the arm pointing to the right is more like an open wing. Five feet away now I can make out bird-like feet and layers of unkempt feathers coating the motionless bird, no, vulture.

I stop about two feet from the vulture and look for signs of life. Is it grinning? The head is looking down, a wing, outstretched, pointing to my right, and I cannot notice any movement. Hesitantly I reach out to touch it. I poke it lightly in the breast but nothing happens. I poke a few more times, harder, quicker. The path at my feet splits left and right again. To the right, where the vulture is pointing, the path seems to discontinue and go back into the forest, filling me with a sense of dread. The path to the left continues on yet I feel no anxiety, certain that this way leads out of the forest. But the vulture points right.

"What's down there?"I ask, "More of your friends?" I'm not sure why I spoke to it. Maybe I'd been alone for so long that I was willing to speak to anything, even six foot tall stuffed vultures.

"I have no friends." A low, cracked voice says.

"Did you say something?" My heart starts racing again, but, once again, I am more confused and curious than I am afraid.

The vultures head slowly rises up. Its mouth opens releasing a vile stench of rot and decay. With its mouth held open the voice continues, "The sun rises and sets but I linger. I point the way but I have no finger. Drink in the sky and leaves of red, down the path to feast on the dead." The beak closes and the head lowers again. Fear consumes me. I sprint down the left path leaving the vulture behind, leaving the forest behind.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I wake up in my bed. My head is foggy and my muscles ache. I hardly remember anything, as if it were all a dream. I know I used the cube again. I know I spoke with him again. I remember the smell of death, but the details are unclear. As with the previous experiences like this, the answers won't come unless I provoke them. More happened to me than I can recall, but I must remember.

There is a chime from my PDA. I roll over to the night stand, the cube sits lifelessly near the edge. I push it aside and grab my PDA. There's an alert message, it says, "One hour until appointment with Dr. Lancaster!" The clock radio says it's 9 am. It's a 45 minute drive so I get up, shower, get dressed, and head out the door.

About ten minutes into the drive I realize how exhausted I am. Every muscle aches, my eyes fight to stay open, and every nerve in my body tells me to get some sleep. But I don't need sleep, I need to remember. Familiar visions of blood stained walls, horrid faces, reaching arms, and a large pedestal overlooking a massive auditorium flash in front of me; on the road, on the faces of the other drivers, in my mirrors. I see her face. She is standing next to me in the auditorium, holding my hand, smiling at me, supporting me. She is beautiful. She is warmth. She is love. She is God.

"Kirsty," I shout. Her name is Kirsty!

I pull into Dr. Lancaster's driveway and get out of the car. The side door leads me into the waiting room and I make myself a cup of tea. The warmth soothes my anxiety and before long Dr. Lancaster opens the door to his office.

"Hi David." He says and motions for me to come in.

Without looking at him, I mumble, "Hey doc," as I enter the office and sit on the couch. Dr. Lancaster closes the door and takes a seat on his throne. He stares at me for a few moments with that stupid, peaceful look of his.

"Still having dreams David?" He asks.

Dreams he says. What a dick! No one believes me anyway, but I'm sick of the same old argument where I say they aren't dreams and we spend our whole hour battling about that. I just let him call them dreams so we can get to the point.

"Yeah, still having dreams."

He stares at me, analyzing every aspect of my being. Fucking therapist. "Tell me about the one you had most recently." I tell him about my encounter with Pinhead, the dark room, my trek through the forest. I omit the giant vulture.

"So this man," he begins…

"He's not a man," I interject.

"What is he then, do you suppose?"

"He's a fucking demon. Or maybe he's an angel." I never really thought about what he was before.

"Whatever he is, what is it, do you think, that he wants from you?"

I sit back and look up at the ceiling. What _does _he want from me? After a few moments it comes to me. He wants _her_.

I look at Dr. Lancaster. "There's this girl I keep seeing. I see her on billboards, signs, other people, out of the corners of my eyes. I see her everywhere. I met her in college when I worked at this café. I think he wants me to find her for him. I don't know, maybe he can't do it by himself. In fact, I just remembered her name on the way over here. Kirsty." He's analyzing me again. "You know, the funny thing is, I have no memory of her ever telling me her name. Shit, I have no memory of her other than that I think she came into the store and ordered a latte once, but there was something about her face. I feel like we have this history together."

He stops me, "David. You've been coming here for over two years and you never mentioned this woman to me, yet you say you see her everywhere and you talk about her as if she means a lot to you. I'm curious as to why you have never mentioned her before now."

"It's too painful. I get sick to my stomach every time I think about her, but that's what Pinhead wants to me to face. I think he needs her somehow and the only way he can get to her is through me, but I don't know why."

"David, often times when we have a loss in our past we make up a grand story to cope with the pain. I think what's happening here is that you've lost someone you care about and in your fragile state you have created a fantasy."

Maybe he's right. But it's all so vivid and it most certainly isn't easier to deal with demons from hell than a breakup. Right?

"Doc, you're telling me that a girl broke my heart and so to deal with it I've created a vivid fantasy world in which a demon from hell comes out of a puzzle box, who shoots hooks out of his body and into mine, just so that I wouldn't have to deal with rejection?" I'm standing now and shouting. He looks ready to shit his pants. "I'm sorry if I don't buy into your psycho babble right now, but frankly I think that's bullshit. What I'm seeing is real! A fucked up dude with pins in his head is screwing around with me, and I need your help to find out why, and all you can do is come up with some asinine theory about repressed memories and delusions of grandeur! I'm not psychotic and I'm not delusional! Just help me remember who this girl is and how I can find her."

He doesn't even blink. He just stares back at me with that stupid look on his face. I stare back at him waiting for a response for a moment, but I'm filled with anger. I turn for the door. I've had it with this shit.

"David, don't go. You can't keep running from your fears."

"Who's running? Me, or you? I'm going to find Kirsty. Thanks for nothing!" I slam the door behind me and never look back.


End file.
